


Impossible

by Shippershape



Series: Stretch & Dr. Goodkin [27]
Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Stitch science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:56:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Cameron wakes up Camille tells him what happened during the stitch. He realizes that in order for Kirsten to be pulled so strongly to his memories, he can't have been the only one with intense feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible

His mouth is dry. Later, Cameron will look back on his first thoughts after waking up, and remember being painfully aware of the way his tongue feels like sand against his teeth. He inhales, a gasp of air whistling through his parched lips.

He feels the hand on his wrist, and forces his eyes open. The light is blinding, and between that and how disoriented he feels, he calculates that he’s been unconscious for a while. He blinks against the fluorescent lighting, two blurry but familiar shapes hovering in front of him.

“Glasses.” He groans, his tongue slow and heavy. The blonde shape moves beside him, and then she’s placing the frames on his face. Kirsten comes into focus, and he’s stupidly, absurdly happy that she’s the first thing he gets to see. She looks tired, dark circles dragging shadows under her eyes, which are staring at him with a mixture of anxiety and a warmth he’s not used to seeing there.

“Cameron? How do you feel?” She asks softly, brushing some of his hair away from his forehead. Camille is standing behind her, smiling at him.

“Um.” He rasps. “Thirsty.”

“Oh.” Kirsten grabs a small pitcher of water on the table beside his bed, and pours him a glass, holding it up to his lips. He sips slowly at it, relishing the way it feels as it restores a little moisture to his mouth.

“Thanks.” He leans back against the pillows. The last thing he remembers is the feeling of cold creeping in from his fingers, up his arms. And Kirsten’s face, shocked and frightened, before the memory turns to darkness.

“Well.” Camille pipes up from behind Kirsten. “We know he’s not a vegetable.” Kirsten makes an indignant noise. Cameron chuckles weakly.

“Good to see you too, Camille.”

She walks up to the bed, patting him on the shoulder.

“Welcome back Doc. You had us worried there for a minute. Especially Miss I’m-never-going-to-leave-his-side-I’ll-shower-at-the-hospital over there.”

Kirsten looks uncomfortable, and Cameron watches her curiously. Remembering why he ended up in this bed in the first place, his face turns serious.

“The license plate. Did we…” He doesn’t even have to finish the question, the looks on their faces tell him everything. “We didn’t get it.” His heart sinks. Kirsten’s fingers tighten slightly on his wrist.

“There was too much resistance, since you were only clinically dead. Your brain fought back.” She murmurs. He can feel the disappointment etching itself onto his features, watches as the girls exchange a glance. Camille looks over at him, thoughtful.

“Kirsten, do you think you could go find Dr. Iver? She’s going to want to poke Cameron and shine bright lights in his eyes.” Camille suggests. Kirsten hesitates, eyes flitting down to his face.

“It’s okay, Stretch. I’m not going anywhere.” He promises, smiling up at her. She returns it tentatively.

“Alright.” She lets go of his arm, glancing back at him as she leaves the room. When she’s gone, Camille turns to him, serious.

“I need to ask you something.” She says. There’s a focus in her eyes that he rarely sees when they’re not in the lab. Or shopping. Curiosity piqued, he nods.

“Okay, shoot.”

She moves in closer, like she doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

“When we first started this, you mentioned that a stitcher would be drawn to emotionally charged memories. That they would be pulled there.”

He doesn’t understand the intensity of her eyes, but nods again.

“Yeah. I mean that’s just an effect of how the brain works, we have limited options when navigating a brain that’s not responsive anymore.” She still looks confused. “Imagine Kirsten is a piece of metal and the memories we’ve mapped in a brain are magnets. If we’re trying to maneuver her past other memories, and they have a particularly strong magnetic pull, she could be yanked in to them.”

Something clicks behind Camille’s eyes.

“Okay. Sure. And what would it mean if you were piloting and completely lost control? If the memories were so charged that the stitcher was being pulled into memory after memory and you couldn’t do anything about it?”

He frowns.

“What do you mean? Like the controls were unresponsive?”

“Well.” Camille bites her lip. “Unresponsive to the pilot. What if the brain was essentially piloting the stitch, and nothing you did had any effect at all?”

The room is quiet while he thinks about that, making calculations in his head.

“That’s…incredibly unlikely. In order to have a pull that strong there’s a threshold of emotion that would have to be reached, something really significant. I mean the emotions in the host brain would have to be crazy strong, and the stitcher would have to be feeling that same emotion, creating a tether.” He sighs. “And even then… it seems impossible unless there was some sort of intense connection already established. The connection would have to be one in a million. If I believed in soulmates, that’s the kind of bond you would need for the memories to be that strong…” He trails off.

Camille is staring at him, eyebrows raised.

“What?”

She whistles.

“I knew you had a little crush on our stitchette, but…this is something else.” She grins at him. “She’s your epic love. That’s adorable.”

He blinks, confused. He wonders if maybe he does have brain damage after all, but he has no idea what Camille is talking about.

“What?” He says again. She pats him on the arm and makes a cooing noise.

“Kirsten’s your soulmate, that’s so cute I-”

“Camille.” He cuts her off. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

“That whole theoretical, oh it would never happen, they would have to be soulmates thing, that _happened_. That’s exactly what happened when Kirsten stitched into you. I tried to pilot, but it was impossible. It was like trying to hold a Doberman on a leash.” She tells him, smirking. He gapes at her, trying to wrap his mind around that. It doesn’t make sense.

“That’s impossible.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Apparently not. So, these ‘crazy strong’ emotions, you gonna tell me what they are?” She crosses her arms expectantly. He gets the feeling he doesn’t really have a choice.

“I think you know.” He mutters, feeling himself turn red. She clucks her tongue.

“You’re not getting off that easy, Romeo.”

He sighs.

“I love her, obviously.” He glares at Camille, who looks thoughtful.

“So…in order for your memories to pull her around like that, she would have to share that emotion.” Camille says slowly, musing. He begins to realize what she’s getting at, and his battered heart stutters in his chest. “Does that mean-”

She’s cut off as Kirsten walks back in, flanked by a woman in a white coat.

“I’m Dr. Iver.” The woman smiles at him, long dark hair and startlingly white teeth. He thinks absently that she should do commercials. “I’ve been checking up on you, and I have to say, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

He forces a smile, really just wanting to talk to Kirsten.

“I guess I should thank you.” He says, holding out his hand. Dr. Iver takes it, looking surprised.

“I think you’ve been misinformed.” She glances between Kirsten and Camille. “The treatment you got here was minimal. Your vitals were stable when you arrived, the only thing we were really worried about was brain function. Which, as I’m sure you know, is out of our hands. Your recovery was up to you.” Something about the way she says that makes Cameron suspect she’s been filled in on more than his medical condition.

“So, what’s the prognosis?” He asks, starting to be overcome with the fatigue of dying and then waking up again. She steps forward and runs a few tests, checking his heart rate and his pupil dilation, listening to his breathing. Eventually, she makes a few notes on his chart then smiles at him.

“You’re going to be sore for a few days, and I would highly recommend against any strenuous activity. But you’re in miraculously good health considering.”

Beside her, Kirsten slouches in relief. Cameron hadn’t noticed the tension in her shoulders until it goes away, the muscles in her neck relaxing as she lets out an almost inaudible breath.

He smiles at the doctor.

“So I can go back to work?”

She nods.

“I don’t see why not. As long as you stay in the…office for the next few weeks.” She gives him a pointed look. He holds his hand over his chest in promise. Satisfied, Dr. Iver makes a few adjustments to his IV, then leaves.

“Hmm.” Camille hums sarcastically. “How about the next time you want a day off you just call in sick like the rest of us?” She jokes. Her words prompt a question he realizes he hasn’t asked.

“Wait. How long was I out?” He’s almost afraid to know now, what if it’s been weeks? What if he lost all that time? Kirsten places her hand reassuringly on his arm.

“Four days. It’s Saturday.”

So not weeks. But the idea of losing four days of his life is somehow not reassuring. Camille reads that on his face, and clears her throat.

“I think I should let you get some rest. Kirsten, are you staying?”

The blonde doesn’t even look at her, just nods.

“Yeah.”

Camille, to Cameron’s surprise, kisses him on the forehead before she goes.

“Glad to have you with us, Doc.” She whispers, and it’s probably the most genuine moment the two of them have ever shared. With a jolt, he realizes she really cares about him. Even more surprisingly, he finds himself glad that she’s there, that he cares about her too. Sometimes he gets so caught up in Kirsten’s orbit that he doesn’t realize he’s made true friends as well, and Camille is one of those. He smiles at her.

“For the record, if I hadn’t made it, I was counting on you to keep things going.”

She beams at him. Then she’s gone. Kirsten settles in the chair beside his bed, and from the way her long limbs fold automatically, one foot on the seat, he gets the sense she’s spent a lot of time there in the past few days.

“So.” He sighs, already drained. “What did you see?”

She looks up from the loose thread she was tugging at on her jeans.

“What?”

“You were in my head, Stretch. I’m kind of curious about what’s in there.”

She doesn’t smile, almost looks caught out. He finds that intriguing.

“I…” She seems to be making a decision. “I saw me. Just…me. Everywhere.” His heart kicks uncomfortably when that sinks in, and Kirsten rubs absently at her chest.

“Oh.” He blinks. “So you know, then.”

She stares at him, surprised.

“I guess I thought you would deny it.” She admits. He snorts.

“What’s the point? You saw everything. You felt it.” He scans her face, trying to read it. Just like always, it’s impossible.

“Yeah…” She murmurs, eyes distant. “It just…it fills you… like all the empty space inside, now there’s love there. And I thought-” She breaks off, looking sad. He reaches down, threading his fingers between hers. She looks at their entwined hands, running her thumb across the back of his while she speaks. “I thought that when the residual emotion went away I would feel empty.”

“Do you?” He asks, holding his breath. She looks up, smiling, and it’s broken but so genuine that he can feel it, like warmth.

“No. It didn’t…it never went away.”

His eyebrows shoot up. Four days is longer than any residual emotion should last. Which means-

“I love you.” She says. Her face is straight, and her eyes are clear and sure, and it’s not soft or sweet or particularly tender. But his face breaks into a wide smile, he knows her heart well enough to realize this is her version of that. And she’s telling him that he’s in it.

“I think you’re the love of my life.” He says. She already knows that, having felt firsthand exactly how strongly he loves her. But it’s nice to be able to say it. She drags her chair closer to the bed, and lays her head down beside his shoulder.

“Thanks for not dying.” She murmurs. He laughs.

“You owe me.”

She tilts her face toward him, and her eyes flit to his lips. His pulse picks up, and he waits, not wanting to push her. Slowly, she leans forward, pressing her lips against his. His hand goes to her face, cupping her cheek, and she becomes insistent, nibbling on his bottom lip. He tries to sit up, but it’s harder than he anticipated, and she pulls back when she feels him struggling. He blushes as she looks at him, feeling weak and frail and entirely unattractive. As though she can read his mind, she runs a hand through his hair, her touch surprisingly gentle and intimate.

He shuffles over, then pats the bed beside him. She immediately crawls on top of the covers, curling into him. With her head on his chest, he puts an arm around her shoulders.

“I have to tell you something.” He says quietly, then feels her stiffen in his arms.

“Okay.” She sounds uneasy.

“Camille told me what happened in the stitch, that the memories were pulling you too strongly for her to pilot.”

Kirsten hums in acknowledgment.

“That shouldn’t happen, it’s almost impossible. It means…basically that the connection between the host and the stitcher is special. Unique.” He almost feels ridiculous saying it, that’s the side of science he’s never believed in. But now it’s his life, this mess of emotion and love and impossible ties.

She’s quiet as she processes that.

“So we’re special?” She sounds skeptical. He doesn’t blame her.

“You’ve always been special.” He reminds her, knowing she hates when he calls her that. She makes a noise of annoyance and he grins. “But yeah, what he have, apparently, is special.”

He’s afraid that might overwhelm her, maybe it’s just too much. But she doesn’t move.

“Alright.”

And that’s it. No fear, no retreating inside herself the way she does sometimes. Just acceptance. It’s so her he could laugh.

“Alright.” He agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. They’re quiet for a few minutes, and he breathing begins to slowly even out.

“Guess what?” He whispers, just wanting to know if she’s awake.

“What?” She mumbles sleepily.

“I love you.”

She snorts.

“Is this going to be a thing?” She wonders. He grins into her hair.

“Probably.”

She just reaches up to pat him tiredly on the cheek.

“Mkay. Night.”

She really does seem exhausted, so he falls quiet, letting her sleep. He wakes up with her in his arms, and realizes four days isn’t that much to lose after all. He would have waited a lifetime for this.


End file.
